


Red Handed

by Kissed_by_Circe



Series: College AU [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:54:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23785855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kissed_by_Circe/pseuds/Kissed_by_Circe
Summary: There’s a reason why the doors don’t have locks, he realises too late, much too late, when one of his colleagues barges in and his girlfriend – he hopes that she’ll allow him to call her his girlfriend one day, when they’re no longer keeping their relationship secret – dives under his desk.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: College AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1699600
Comments: 12
Kudos: 66





	Red Handed

⚡

There’s a reason why the doors don’t have locks, he realises too late, much too late, when one of his colleagues barges in and his girlfriend – he hopes that she’ll allow him to call her his girlfriend one day, when they’re no longer keeping their relationship secret – dives under his desk. He tries to collect himself, partially relieved that he’s at least kept it in his boxers, which are still in place despite her nimble hands when Professor Blackfish looks him up and down.

“I heard some… weird noises and curse words, figured I might check in on you. Sounded like you were in pain, boy,” the older man explains, and Jon almost chokes, because his girlfriend’s stifled moans certainly did not sound like someone tripping over books or bumping into furniture, and it’s pretty obvious, from his lipstick stained neck over his open shirt and the pants hanging at his knees, to his desk, with his stationary things messily and hastily shoved aside, and the baby blue silk top lying on the stack of papers that he still needed to grade.

Professor Blackfish is pretty cool, but he stills remembers last year’s incident with the head of the economics department, and he thinks this might be a warning, a _be more careful with the table legs in the future, son_ that means _I won’t_ _kill_ _on you this time, but stop screwing your girl in your office, everyone can walk in on you, idiot_ , so he tries to smile at him – he really, really likes Blackfish, but he’s also a teeny tiny bit afraid of him, because of the afore mentioned incident – and thanks him.

“I really have to keep this armchair somewhere else; I keep bumping into it, but thanks for checking in on me, it won’t happen again, _I promise_.” Jon hopes that he’ll understand his meaning, and also that he’d close the door behind him, because students are walking past and he doesn’t want anyone to see him in his boxers and everything, but Blackfish keeps hovering in the frame, his hands in his pockets and his brow furrowed, before he finally steps forward and closes it, but only half.

“Okay, Snow. But I want the armchair to say it, too, and I don’t mean that one,” Blackfish demands, and nods at the two armchairs in the corner, that substitute a sofa because it’s more professional, and that are currently taking the blame for this whole awkward situation. “Okay. Darling, please promise my colleague that we won’t fool around in my office anymore,” he says, directed at the space under his desk, hoping that the older man either won’t recognise Sansa as a student, or as Jon’s own former student – they only started dating after she finished his course, but still – and waits for her to peek out from her hiding place and tell Blackfish what he wants to hear, but she doesn’t.

Instead, a dainty finger writes an _N_ and an _O_ on his naked thigh, and he starts to freak out. “She – um – she says _no_? Or maybe she doesn’t want to embarrass herself,” he tries to explain, and Blackfish’s facial expression reminds him of the way he looked at Professor Baelish last summer. He also remembers holding a cup filled with UHT milk while some medical students picked up the teeth that were scattered over the cobblestone courtyard. How Blackfish retained his job and why he never went to jail is beyond him, but right now it’s all he can think about.

“Are you alright, love? Do you need help? Has Professor Snow done – _something_?” the rugged old man asks, clearly concerned for the girl under the desk, and Jon tries, and fails, to deescalate the situation. “She’s not my student anymore – I would _never_ start something with a student, that’d be unethical – and I’m not taking advantage of her – she’s my girlfriend, kind of – “ he tries to explain, but Blackfish doesn’t believe him. If Sansa would only say something, reassure him that everything’s okay, that he shouldn’t worry about her, that they’re just defiling his workspace and his students’ papers and nothing more, but she doesn’t.

“Darling, are you hurt? Are you afraid of Professor Snow? You can trust me, I only want to help you – “ Blackfish murmurs, squatting down before the desk and trying to coax an answer out of her, when he notices the silk top on the desk and stops dead in his tracks. Picking it up with the expression of the protagonist of a war movie holding his dying best friend in his arms, he examines the lace trim and turns back to Jon.

“I will kill you. I will fucking kill you, you bastard,” he mumbles, and Jon takes a step back, his arms raised against the attack, as the Blackfish prepares to tackle him, when finally, _finally_ Sansa emerges from under the desk, her skirt thankfully back in place, and steps between them to save him from getting his jaw broken.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. Please calm down Brynden, I’m fine, everything’s fine. Please don’t hurt him,” she murmurs, and if he wasn’t in potential mortal danger he’d be thinking about how familiar she seems to be with Professor Blackfish, going so far as to putting her hands on his chest to keep him back while she tells him that they’ve kind of been secretly dating for a few weeks now, and that he doesn’t have to beat him up for her. For a few moments, it’s just Sansa murmuring and Blackfish listening and Jon wondering just what’s going on now, when the older man extends his hand for a bone crushing shake and mumbles an excuse.

“I’m just worried, you understand, after all that has happened, and especially after the Baelish incident,” he tries to explain, and Jon understands less than before. “The incident where he, um, tried to, um, take advantage of – “ “He understands,” Sansa cuts him off, and suddenly some pieces start to fall into place, but not all. “But how do you know each other?” Jon wants to know, and the other two change a look. “She’s my niece, she’s been living with me ever since she came here.” “That’s why we could never meet at my place,” Sansa adds with a look at her uncle, “but now we could…” “Over my dead body will you bring back boys to my apartment,” Blackfish grumbles, but he looks a lot more relaxed, and he even half-asses an invitation for dinner at his place, sometime in the future.

Sansa loops her arm through her uncle’s and practically pulls him out of the office, winking at Jon over her shoulder, and he stands there, completely clueless, with his jeans hanging between his knees and her lace panties in his back pockets and a stupid, shit-eating grin on his face. And he’s definitely getting a lock for that door.


End file.
